Page 42 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
She laughs at my expression. "I guess it does sound ridiculous when you put it that way."
"We need to fix this. Immediately." I move to the cabinet where I keep some of the bottles with flavor profiles I’m working on. "You can't properly market something you've never experienced."
"Now?"
"Why not now?" I pull out our small batch reserve, the one with hints of caramel and vanilla that I was working on when we first met. "This is one of our best. Smooth enough for beginners."
Lettie looks both nervous and excited. "Alright, Mountain Man. Educate me."
I grab two tasting glasses and pour a small amount in each. "The key is to sip, not shoot. Let it sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing."
She takes the glass, watching me carefully. "Like wine tasting?"
"Similar, but you're looking for different notes." I demonstrate, taking a small sip, letting the liquid roll across my tongue before swallowing, feeling the warm burn down my throat. "You'll taste the oak from the barrel, maybe some vanilla, caramel, a bit of spice."
Lettie mirrors my actions, then immediately coughs, her eyes watering. "Oh my word," she gasps. "That burns."
I can't help but smile. "The burn is part of the experience."
"It's like liquid fire," she says, but gamely takes another tiny sip. This time, she manages not to cough. "Okay, I do taste something sweet underneath. Vanilla, maybe?"
"Good. Try again."
She does, closing her eyes to concentrate. "Caramel. And something... warm? Is that the oak?"
I nod, oddly proud of her. "You've got a good palate."
"The last time I tried this hard to identify flavors was at a wine tasting in Napa with my parents," she says, taking another small sip. "Though I think I prefer this. It feels more... honest somehow."
"Whiskey doesn't pretend to be something it's not," I agree. "It's straightforward. Either you appreciate it or you don't."
"Is this one of your blends?" she asks.
Her question is surprising. "Yes. How did you know?"
"The way you're watching me taste it. Like it matters what I think."
She's more perceptive than I gave her credit for. "It's one I've been working on for a while," I admit. "The last person I made a special blend for was Vanessa."
Lettie sets down her glass, her expression softening. "I'm honored, then."
"It's different," I say quickly. "This one's for the festival. It's business."
She smiles like she doesn't believe me, but doesn't push. "Well, business or not, I like it. I think festival-goers will too."
We spend the next hour tasting various ingredients for the non-alcoholic versions. Lettie is enthusiastic about everything, taking notes on combinations she likes, asking intelligent questions about the distilling process. I find myself relaxing in her presence, the awkwardness from earlier fading.
By the time we finish, it's late afternoon and my stomach is growling.
"Hungry?" she asks, noticing.
"Starving," I admit. "Want to grab dinner?"
"I'd love to." She gathers her things. "Where were you thinking?"
The question makes me pause. I hadn't planned this far ahead. The few times I've eaten out since coming back to Eden Ridge, it's been alone at the diner or grabbing takeout from the burger place.
"There's Rosetti's," I suggest, surprising myself. "Italian place downtown. Been around forever."
